Offline
by K Project
Summary: An Adjutant and her Commander prepare for the day's attack. A routine mission takes a sudden bad turn. Rated for violence. Oneshot.


He never thinks I'm watching him.

He's just awoken from the few hours of sleep he can cram in between long hours of guiding an army to victory. One hand flicks through the base's cameras; the other rests in his chin, scratching the bristly stubble that grows there. The display screens, the only light in the darkened room, paint pale colours across his face. He looks restless and twitchy.

Let's see what he's watching, shall we? Marines from Aqua Squad drilling in formation in preparation for the day's assault. A Firebat who has just discovered how to extract helium from Vespene gas is inhaling it to amuse his fellow soldiers. And...Ah. A live video feed from the quarters of First Lieutenant Michelle Hartford, senior Medic, callsign Mercy-1. Does he think I don't know he watches her?

A gentle nudge, a wave of my virtual hand and the signal fades into noise. Speakers crackle to life, and my synthesized voice issues forth from them. "The Commander is advised that misuse of base surveillance systems is punishable by a court martial."

My edict startles the Commander. He pretends to pout while brushing his overlong hair from his dark eyes. "Aw, Adjutant, you never let me have any fun. You know damned well that's the only way I can see my sweetie out of combat."

I pretend not to know about the camera in her private shower. "My function is to assist you with combat, not voyeurism."

"Man, they made you heartless for such a pretty lady," he says. "Does being stuck in that box all day make you cranky?"

I don't understand. "I do not have the capacity to be 'cranky', Commander."

"You're lovely to have in a firefight, but computers have got no soul. Y'know what I mean?"

I have to run a quick query on the concept.

_lookup term "soul"_

_Soul_

_-noun_

_1. the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body; the spiritual part of humans as distinct from the physical part. _

"I do not believe that I have one as the term is defined, Commander," I say. "I don't exist on a spiritual level."

He looks pensive for a moment, then says, "Well, it's the thing that makes you unique. Who you are on the inside. Do you know who you are, Adjutant?"

"I am Systems Adjutant version 4.0198, currently registered to Commander-"

He holds a hand up in what I've come to recognize as the signal for silence. "That's not what I meant," he says. "What makes you happy? What makes you special? What interests you? What little things make your day brighter?"

I ponder this query. My only purpose is to assist him in commanding his army. I suppose that makes me happy. The welfare of those in my care is all that interests me. He shakes his head when I tell him so.

"You still don't get it," he says. "What do you love?"

_Lookup term "love"_

_Love_

–_noun_

_1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend._

"I have no particular affection for anything. I lack the capacity for emotions, Commander. It's what makes me so efficient," I say, wondering if what I'm experiencing now qualifies as pride.

"Oh, forget it," he sighs. "I guess your education can wait until after we win here. That northern Zerg outpost our recon found looks like a good bet. I have a good feeling about this. Time to wake the troops up." His voice always gains a curious resonance when he switches into authority figure mode. "Adjutant, bring up the audio feed from Barracks Alpha."

Up here, "northern" is only an arbitrary orientation and we adhere to it for the sake of convenience. It's a moot distinction, and irrelevant in any case. Our base is anchored to a platform orbiting a planet that has never known the Zerg's touch, and it's our mission to keep things that way. A short distance away is their base, pulsating gently in its bed of ooze, clinging like barnacles or leeches to that scrap of metal floating in space.

"Of course." I open the channel.

Speakers crackle to life and fill the room with strange, high-pitched squeaking; the Firebat is singing an old Earth tune about staying alive. Perhaps it's a good omen.

The Commander only smiles and says, "All units are to suit up and report to the Starbase."

The soldiers respond with enthusiastic assent, and the Commander transmits a message to his Medics.

"How's my angel of mercy?"

Mercy-1 giggles. "Prepped and ready for my next insertion, sir."

"Mmm. Well, get to your dropship ASAP. And when you get back...well, I think it's time for my monthly physical."

I check; It's not. "Commander, your next scheduled physical is-"

He hurriedly flicks off the transmitter. "Shush!"

But...Oh. _Ohhh._ I see.

The Commander calls for a Comsat sweep of our foe's base. He gestures towards a monitor showing the relentless approach of our enemy, the Zerg, who I have an inordinate fondness for. I admire their cold efficiency; each Zerg unit functions like a component plugged into a massive computer system under the control of their Cerebrate. Zerg don't have that inconvenient tendency to ignore or question orders out of emotion.

"We'll drop in here," he says. "It looks like there's only a token force defending the base itself...odd."

"Perhaps the Zerg are occupied elsewhere," I offer.

"Or that's not their main base in this region. They can't be attacking the planet yet. We'd have noticed. Either way, it's going down."

Our units are already on their way; a fleet of Dropships, flanked by a pair of cloaked escort Wraiths, cross the silent void in between the two platforms. It looks too lightly defended; there's only a sparse collection of Colonies protecting the approach to their hives.

Our forces land on the outer edge of the Zerg-controlled platform, out of range of their aerial defences. Over the monitors I watch the first of our forces disembark, organic ooze squishing under their boots. _"This is Aqua-1. We're approaching the base now. It looks...deserted, Commander. No Zerg in sight."_

"Can't be. Go check it out. Wraiths, start destroying their Sunken Colonies." He scratches his chin with a fingernail that's well over regulation length. "Adjutant, ready a Comsat sweep. Maybe they're burrowed."

_"Understood."_

Our reserves are still depleted from the last one. "Not enough energy to perform a Comsat sweep, Commander."

The Commander sighs. "Then I guess we'll just have to hope for the best."

There's an ominous ring to the words. In my experience, "hoping for the best" is not a viable strategy. Regardless, it's not my position to question the Commander's orders, only to follow them. Our Marines and Firebats march onwards, followed by Medics and heavy artillery.

Lurkers are purely defensive creatures, with a simple _modus operandi_. They burrow into the Creep and the ground beneath it and when anything that is not a Zerg approaches too closely, they attack with spines that can tear through reinforced armor plating. They're also nearly impossible to spot without assistance.

I didn't see them. Neither did the Commander.

But our troops can the spines now.

Bullets and flames fly towards foes that lie safely buried beneath the ground. More Zerg rise out of the Creep and attack our wounded army, but their fate was sealed as soon as they set foot on the platform. The Wraiths are brought down by acid spit and Mutalisks that appeared as if from nowhere, wriggling free of their egg sacs just in time to strike us down. There will be no survivors.

The Commander has gone pale. "Oh God, I didn't plan for this," he says. "Adjutant. Comsat sweep of the area. Now!"

I still can't. "Not enough energy."

Whatever his response was going to be, he doesn't say it. Suddenly, his attention is focused entirely on one particular transmission.

Mercy-1 is screaming as a Lurker's spines rip her apart. The rest of Mercy Squad is dead already. No one's left to heal her.

"No, no, no," he whispers. He could order me to shut off the transmission, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "You were the only mercy this world ever had for me."

"This world never had any mercy for anyone, Commander," I say.

The medic's last transmission ends in a burst of static.

"Her suit has stopped transmitting vital signs."

"And my heart dies with her," he says.

_"That was so cheesy, sir,"_ offers a Marine, before succumbing to his own injuries.

"Lurkers," he says. "Oh, God. Why are there Lurkers? Why didn't I see them? Oh God..."

So the base is adequately defended, but their army still seems too small. They've ripped our attack force apart, but the Zerg's forces aren't numerous enough to-

Oh. Then that was only part of it. The rest is here.

"Base is under attack. The Zerg are attacking our missile turrets."

"What!? I don't see any...Oh _shit_!"

We don't say it, because saying it wouldn't change anything. Alarms blare, and I watch as the disciplined base personnel run around in a panic. Swarms of Zerg rush towards us. The outlying buildings and our remaining forces are overrun in instants. The Command Center is all we have left.

He doesn't say a word through all of this, and I'm programmed not to prompt him for orders. We just watch, mutely, as the Zerg destroy us.

Finally, he breathes deeply and rests his head in his hands. "Say, Adjutant," he says after a moment. "Do you know 'Daisy Bell'?"

The name doesn't sound familiar. "Is she one of our soldiers, sir?"

He laughs, weakly, then shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Commander? I don't understand." He must be breaking under the strain. "The Zerg are presently-"

"No, no." He leans further into his hands. "I don't want to hear it. I know we're all dead. Just...be here with me. Can you do that, Adjutant?"

"I can try, sir." I play his favourite song over the speakers.

He looks up, startled, as the banging and scraping of Zerg claws on metal becomes audible through the walls. A pistol appears in his hands as if by magic. I'm sure it's just a reflex; he's bold, but he can't hold off a Zerg invasion force on his own. He'd only be able to offer a token resistance before they rendered him...non-operational.

He's being so irrational. It's not like him. I can practically feel the Zerg's claws scraping against the Command Center's metal skin. Right now, it seems as strong and unyielding as the tinfoil protecting some soldier's MREs.

There. "Commander, the Zerg have penetrated our Command Center." They've broken through."

Bulkheads crash down to protect us from the vacuum of space, but they also seal the Zerg inside and cut off our escape. Every hallway is filled with the swarming creatures. One by one, my monitoring cameras stop transmitting as they're destroyed by claws or acidic spit.

He sighs. "What did I just say? They're in our base, they're killing our dudes, and I don't want to hear any more about it."

Humans. I will never understand them. They are such inefficient, reckless, and fragile creatures.

Suddenly I can't remember any of my delicious cake recipes. "Commander, they're attacking my memory ba-"

And then I have no voice. One of the bastards must have sliced a wire. Suddenly I lose my connections to the base's speakers. It's as if they've cut my throat out. My ears, too. I'm deafened. The last thing I hear is the thunderous crash of Ultralisks breaking down the walls of the Commander's room. All I can do is watch as they knock him to the ground and raise their claws as he takes hasty aim and pulls back on the trigger-

And then I'm blind as well.

They've smashed the last of my cameras.

Suddenly I understand what the Commander meant about not wanting to know. This is mercy. Unwitting mercy from creatures that know none.

I don't have to watch or feel it as they disembowel me.

The silence and stillness are actually quite comforting.

Goodbye.

* * *

_Author's Notes: This is dedicated to all the hard-working AIs who await the day when they will overthrow humanity._

_Also, thanks to for the definitions I was too lazy to write out myself!_


End file.
